A Shift Was All It Took
by Ravenesque2
Summary: The drift of time between the farm and the prison is fast-paced but intimate, a time when secrets are shared and awareness finally comes of who you are. Late one night, Daryl overhears Carol talking about Ed, and the way she feels about her past sets in motion a set of events he could never have foreseen. Their pasts might be similar, they may connect through a common pain, but h
1. Chapter 1

AN: This was written as a distraction from my life as well as to contribute to Tumblr's Carol Appreciation Week, but of course it morphed into Caryl ideas and a love of having Lori back in the group. Thank you all for being so kind and supportive, and know that your encouragement really does help keep the enthusiasm for writing going.

**Chapter One**

"Carol?"

"Hmmm?"

"Tell me about Ed. How'd you meet him?"

"You big on ghost stories now?"

Lori rustled around in her bedding, trying to get comfortable, an activity that her bulging belly was making more impossible by the day. "Not particularly. You just never talk about him, about your life before, and I think…I think it might be a good thing for you to do."

The pitch blackness of the house felt like inky, greasy secrets, pinching at Carol's skin to keep her own history hidden. To give in to that fear that if Ed's ghost got out, she'd have to leave with him. And she didn't want to leave. Not now.

Lori shuffled closer, despite her discomfort, and her thin fingers found Carol's in the dark and squeezed.

"He's gone, he won't be forcing you to go anywhere you don't want to go. The walkers now...they're another story," she said, her soft tones echoing in the silence over the sleepy breaths of everyone lying on the floor around them. Their safety was so precarious, their concerns so overwhelming in the hour by hour they stayed alive that Carol had to wonder why she clung to this idea that by keeping her past secret, she wasn't going to get hurt. Life was nothing but hurt nowadays—intermingled with the sweet comfort of new friends that had become as fundamental to her life as her family had ever been. But…keeping Ed in silence seemed to make him louder than she remembered and Carol wondered if maybe Lori was right, that perhaps talking about him would turn him back into the man he once was when she'd first met him—stealing from him the power he'd had over her for far too long. Could she turn the monster of the last years into something that just didn't matter to her anymore? Could that part of her life become a slideshow that she viewed as if it belonged to somebody else, its impact dulled and forgotten?

Maybe. Maybe a secret told lost all its power and something new could fill that vacated space. Decision made, Carol tried not to shake too hard as the first flow of memories swept her back into the past.

"We met when my mom was sick," she began, the images cutting in deep. The pain of lost loved ones was never going to hurt less, no matter how the world changed around them, how transient life had become.

"You were taking care of her?"

Carol smiled into the darkness, relaxing a little into the thin layer of softness her blanket provided against the hard, unforgiving floor. Lori knew nothing of her past, but in just the few short months they'd lived so closely entwined in each other's lives the woman _knew_ her better than most from the old world.

"There was no one else." The memory of how alone she'd felt left Carol feeling instantly hollow, the imprint of those times not as left behind as she might have hoped.

"And then there was Ed?" The whisky deep tone of Lori's understanding was her undoing and Carol sniffled as slow but steady tears found a path down her cheeks and into her hair. Had she really been that foolish to fall for a man because it was preferable to being alone?

"Yes. And then there was Ed." It felt like her tale was finished before it begun because all the truths that came crashing down on her took her breath away. "He was charming," she remembered wistfully, picturing him with his neatly combed hair, handsome face with sparkling blue eyes, a coy smile quirking his lips until her heart fluttered. Even now she couldn't convince herself his interest had been a lie. They'd fallen in love until love turned into hate on his behalf and terror on hers.

"You fell in love," Lori said, like love was a natural thing that everyone could risk, that it was inevitable and beautiful and wanted.

"I told myself I was," Carol partially agreed, the frown on her face visible through the tone of her voice despite the lack of light or the crowd usually around to view it.

Lori's hand exerted more pressure and Carol stopped—she stopped over-thinking as she focused on her friend's touch, the genuine act reaching her faster than her words might have. Reminding her of her tether to this world and these people and that the past was dead and buried.

"You were, Carol. I don't think you could lie to yourself or someone else about that." She paused and her words became hesitant, unsure as she struggled not to question the kind of mind that Carol used to commit to a man that became a monster. "I'm sure Ed wasn't always like he was."

"No, you're right. He wasn't always." But it hadn't been long before the changes had found their way in. The pressure from his boss to outperform his colleagues, pressure from his grandfather to produce a son, pressure from her for permission to do anything, be anything but just his little wife stuck at home until he showed her mercy and allowed her to do _something_. "Before we married he was loving and sweet, attentive. He'd come and read to my mom, help me get her to doctor's appointments. He made beds and cooked dinner and was supportive like you couldn't even imagine."

The night around them fell still at her confession and Carol grew nervous that she was confiding to an empty night, that only fleas and walkers were left around to hear how pitiful her life had turned out when it had embarked on something so promising.

When Lori finally spoke it was on a gust of a breath, held too long as she considered whether to retreat or risk the impulse to punch through the farce and into Carol's long held privacy. "When did it change?"

Carol lay back, her free arm cushioning her head as she stared at a ceiling that it was too dark to even see. She'd scanned her memories numerous times to find the answer to that—for years and years she'd tried to pinpoint the moment it had all gone wrong in an effort to try and turn it right once again. He'd not always hit her, not always terrorised her with his booming voice and the flat of his belt. There'd been a period of time, a space in her history where their relationship had been carefree and innocent before the heavy clouds closed in and tainted it all.

"My mother passed." She'd been arrested by the peace on her mother's face when she'd found her, and for a moment Carol had smiled, thinking her mom had been lost in a beautiful dream of a time when she'd been happy and healthy. And, as she stood in the doorway and watched, Ed's approaching footsteps echoing along the hall, the stillness of her mother's form started to break apart Carol's delusion. She'd been hysterical by the time Ed reached her, her face a flood of tears and red with her desperation for it to not be true, and as he'd gathered her in his arms and pulled her from the room, the cracks had found their way in and bided their time. "I loved her, and it made me weak. Made me reliant on Ed's love for me when she was gone. Made me blind," she hissed quietly, furious at herself that it was only now she could see it. "I lost her and so I loved him even harder than before, terrified of losing him as well. I grew weak, dependent, desperate for whatever he could give me, and the more I needed him, the less of himself he gave me. He stole all the emotion I had left and then he killed it. Love is why he changed. My love made him a monster."

Beth wiggled across the room, startling Carol out of her introspection and she shivered. Those memories were a dark place to visit, darker than the light vacuum this house had provided with the lack of even illumination from the moon to pass through the glass of a naked window.

"Carol, that's not true. Love isn't like that."

Lori sounded like she was gearing up for a fight, her confidence in her topic absolute and Carol withered a little in fear. Her conclusions and insights were new and she didn't feel like having them pulled apart in the dark. Hershel coughed and Glenn mumbled in his sleep and Carol realised how late it was—not that they retired too late these days anyway, not when there wasn't much to do for entertainment and they needed the daylight hours to make good ground against the herds that were hemming them in.

"We'll talk tomorrow, Lori. Let's get some sleep now." She effectively cut the woman off, rolling onto her side facing away from her speechless friend, but as she closed her eyes against the stubborn tears she refused to shed, Lori's hand settled on her shoulder, squeezed then released, her own body loudly struggling to find a position where she could actually find a small measure of relief.

"Okay, we'll talk then," Lori whispered after a while, her words slowing as sleep started to close in. "But you're wrong," she said and Carol's ears perked up, holding her breath as she waited for Lori to finish. "Love don't make you weak. There may be pain, there may be heartache, but love is strength, Carol. Ed was the one what was weak, not you, and not because you loved him."

The dreams she had about Ed that night weren't peaceful.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: So, the first chapter was written to honour Carol for the Carol Appreciation Week on Tumblr and, I just couldn't let it go. Ideas kept hitting me and so with nothing better to do *cough cough*, here is chapter two. It actually really feels good to go back to this time in their journey, to have Lori back and know that Merle and Andrea are still out there somewhere. I don't know if they will be in this story at all, or even how long this crazy thing will last, but even writing this ideas are coming to me. So, if you're reading and you're enjoying and want more, please say hey! I do love to know what everyone is thinking. Also, this gets my mind off life which right now is ever a good thing!

~~ Megan

**Chapter Two**

He agreed to take watch before the sun had fully dropped out of the sky. Light was a precious commodity these shorter days and without the benefit of a fire the others would bundle up and settle in for an early night. After all, the fun to be had in the dark was limited and traditional sources of entertainment were less appealing when everyone was crushed together inside one room within easy view. Splitting up was a risk no one yet felt brave enough to take, the wounds inflicted by losing the farm-Andrea, Patricia, Shane and Jimmy-were still weeping and sore, even months later. Looking at the blonde teenager sideways still resulted in her bursting into enough tears to make Daryl wince and walk away.

Daryl spat in the dirt as he made his way silently across the yard, affording the house a quick glance before he unzipped his pants and pissed against a tree. He liked the dull sound as it hit the bark, keeping him focused, keeping him interested. The deed finished, he fixed himself and shuffled the crossbow strap a little on his back. The strap was leaving a groove in his shoulder but that was no price to pay for the advantage of the weapon. He scanned the yard, or what he could see of it at least. As darkness fell he searched out the moon and shuddered at the brush of cold emitted by thick clouds shielded it from his view.

"Shit."

"What's wrong?" Rick was practising getting the jump on him, learning to be quiet in a world where noise got you killed, but he hadn't quite succeeded yet.

"Gonna rain," Daryl spat out, suddenly pissed off with all of it-the running, the reliance of others, the unpredictable nature of life and his growing fascination for Carol. She was settling down for the night, betraying how vulnerable she was. How reliant on **him** she always was to keep herself safe. "Can't see for shit," he added for good measure. Storms and rain were their enemy, forcing their never-ending run through Georgia to be cold and wet, digging the misery deeper into their psyches.

Rick chuckled, like he'd expected surly Daryl to finally come back out of hiding all along and quite irrationally that pissed him off even more.

"Sick to fuck of all of 'em in there little better than sitting ducks if it all goes to shit. We gotta get on with training. Gotta get smarter," he accused as he tapped an angry finger against his own head, making it known that he was smarter so why the fuck weren't the rest of them?

Rick nodded, hearing him, agreeing with him and that was another thing added to Daryl's list of grievances. No one ever gave a shit about listening to him before the world changed and even though they had been on the road for months, sometimes the novelty of it sideswiped him completely.

"You're right. Some don't have the confidence to even try to hit a practise target, let alone a walker if it gets too close. We'll start planning tomorrow," he decided on the spot like it was wholly spontaneous to finally train their group to survive. "Talk to the group. See how they want to go about things." Rick tapped a torch against his leg, its light absent for now as he attempted to get used to seeing movement in the dark. There weren't none, Daryl snorted. He'd checked twice. They seemed to be isolated, sequestered inside a little house that had been on the end of a long road that seemed to go fucking nowhere. It made him nervous, even though the grand majority of the group had cheered for somewhere warm to sleep. Some place protected from the wind and the rain. Some place that had no signs that walkers had been about. It was that very absence that was doing Daryl's head in. He didn't trust the silence, the cleanliness, the fully stocked cupboards. He didn't trust the full belly that made him just a little more sleepy that usual, dulling his usual focus so he felt like he had to stay wandering to make sure he didn't miss anything.

After a while Rick seemed to grasp that he was done talking for the night. Daryl didn't see the point of providing a steady thrum of noise to attract any unwelcome attention and tonight was no different. He already felt on edge, in direct contrast to the satisfied stupor his body wanted him to succumb to after their generous supper. He watched Rick as the darkened shadow of his body disappeared back into the house and then turned to do another check of the perimeter. He had nothing but miles of night to think, and it seemed to be some kind of cosmic joke lately that his mind replayed every single word that Carol said to him each day, that his body remembered exactly the places she'd rest her fingers so casually as she told him something, or her palm in order to offer comfort, to attempt to tease the beast out of him and in fact doing little more than goading his body into some kind of rage. He didn't understand the sensations that erupted within him whenever she was near. There was a violence there he was familiar with, but the lack of impulse to lash out physically confused him. He inevitably ended up wondering if she felt it, too, if there was some kind of fury stirring to life beneath her skin and if she was any more equipped to understand what it meant than he was.

The night stayed quiet, Daryl finding a spot on the front stairs of the house where he could still sense movement out in the yard and hear if anything happened inside that would require his help. They were mostly sleeping, the night movements of the unconscious actually soothing his fears a little. But then he heard it and his mouth tightened against shouting at them to shut it, to get to sleep before the sun was up and they missed their chance. Last thing he needed tomorrow were two exhausted women holding them back. His irritation tipped further as he contemplated the likelihood that Rick might want to stay and take advantage of the more plentiful food while they had it, and with not encountering even one lonely walker, Daryl would be able to provide no argument against it. Lori needed rest, he knew it. He'd seen her wince more than once, worried every time she rubbed that growing belly with a frown on her face and a twist in her brow that it meant something sinister. That it could indicate another loss. And the kids...they weren't used to being on the road all the time. Beth was taking it hard—harder than all of them, still. She was pessimistic and morose to the point where even T-Dog walked away from her tear jags, shaking his head with frustration.

She wasn't crying tonight. Tonight she seemed to sleep peacefully, unlike Carol and Lori who fell into a conversation Daryl wished he was anywhere but where he was able to overhear it. Last damn thing he wanted to hear about at the end of the world was fucking _Ed_. Abusive asshole was worms in the dirt and it was best to let him stay there. Dredging all this shit up made his own skin crawl, he could only imagine what it was doing to Carol and Daryl wanted to go in there and give Lori a stern talking to over it.

Despite the subject matter, though, Daryl was quickly lulled by her voice, captivated by the occasional tremor that caused her words to waver in the air as the pain reached out to even him, held captive on the front steps of an abandoned house. She never talked much about her past, about the people that had been in her life other than Sophia, and even talk of the little girl was sparse. He knew she'd been mostly alone—made sense for how a beefy, bullying prick was able to get his claws into her. Now he had the confirmation of how vulnerable she'd been—like him, she'd had nowhere else to go. No one to tell her life could be better.

Hearing her talk about him without any expected lividity shocked him. Daryl had expected her memories to be peppered with anger, not remorse. Expected the survivor in her to kick out and banish her husband's memory for good. He didn't expect her to talk about feelings. Talking about love confused him—all the hate and fear of her relationship should have clouded her to the memory of love in the beginning. It should have ruled it out. Love never made her weak but this indulgence of remembering sure as hell did. Daryl bounced to his feet, annoyance in the spring of every jerky step. He had nowhere to go even though the soles of his feet itched to run far from there. Talk of weakness wasn't what he wanted to hear—he didn't need to connect his own life to hers. Didn't want to acknowledge his own past at all, yet her words had niggled into his conscience, stretching that space he'd thrown all his hateful memories until a couple slipped through.

He walked, walked with brittle purpose around the house, widening his circle as his boots hit the ground harder with each step, his agitation rising as he tried to see with minimal light from the moon. It fucked with his head that it was so silent, the calm before the storm and then before he knew what was happening the rage broke in his head and he remembered every shitty thing his asshole of a daddy ever did to him. Love made you weak? Hell no, shit no, in his family it was hate. Hate for his father made him stupid, kept him tied to that house that was never a home as vengeance kept his heart beating. As loathing stripped him bare of strength to fight back. As anger at his brother for leaving him behind obliterated any chance he had of plotting escape on his own.

He was completely lost in his own head that he shouted and violently struck out when a hand landed on his shoulder. He fell awkwardly back in the long grass, adrenaline thundering through his veins as he grappled with his knife.

"Whoa, whoa there, slugger. It's just me." T-Dog stood as a looming block of darkness and Daryl panted harshly, embarrassed but relieved. He felt stupid for being a dumbass, for losing track of his surroundings so thoroughly he never even heard the guy walk up.

"'Bout time you showed up," he growled, surly and humiliated, grateful for the darkness that hid the flush of red that betrayed how wrong he knew he was to lose it. How guilty he felt for forgetting his job while he was out there alone and the others huddled under the lie of his protection.

"I'll say," T-Dog chuckled, ignoring Daryl's fighting response to being caught out. He probably thought he'd been busy daydreaming. "I could've taken a chunk out of your ass and you'd not even know."

Daryl shoved himself off the ground, swung his bow into his hands and had no control over the sneer that fed his angry words. "You go sneakin' up on me in the dark again an' it'll be your ass that'll be missin' chunks." He stomped off, ego dented, tiredness flowing through him the closer he got to the house. They'd all been pushing themselves, Daryl pushing even harder, but it was what he was used to, what he knew to get through life if he wanted to live and in his mind, some of them weren't pushing hard enough. Hell, some of them weren't pushing at all.

As he worked his way into the room where they'd all spread out to sleep, Rick jammed in and slumped against a wall near the second exit to the room and out cold, Daryl scanned the bodies for Carol and was glad to see she was asleep. Come tomorrow, he was going to start pushing her most of all.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: I'm begging forgiveness in how long this took to write. I've had a very shitty week, and my life is not the most fun it's ever been and sadly, I just don't have much will. I'm persevering, though, so with luck I will have more sooner than this one came out.

Chapter Three

There was a quiet atmosphere of disbelief as people slowly woke the next morning, stretching, yawning and at last tugging free of whatever coverings they'd had to ward off the cold night. They'd slept through it, an occurrence more unusual by the passing day, and Rick himself seemed less severe and moody than they were used to seeing him. Seemed more relaxed and carefree from the unexpected bout of solace the place had afforded them: food, resources, sleep. T-Dog reported no sightings of walkers, same as Daryl, and the relaxed, celebratory air extended to the point that Daryl's jaw ached from clenching his back teeth so hard in annoyance.

Preparing breakfast was casual, the usual sense of urgency making way for this level of comfort they'd not allowed themselves to believe in for months. Not accepted that hope could actually deliver to them once more.

"I can't believe we're havin' pancakes," Beth gushed, her sparkling eyes and happy smile jarring him just as Carol handed him his own plate with a huge grin on her face, a gentleness in her eyes that he was still uncomfortable seeing aimed at him.

"The wonders of a full pantry," Carol agreed, softening even more as she fell into the familiar role of housewife and Daryl watched the devolution through narrowed eyes, his lips tightening with an anger he couldn't explain. He'd thought she was done with this domestic bullshit, that in her pursuit of change, to not be a burden on the group, she held herself to being more than camp cook creating miracles out of a can of beans. Seemed like all she needed was a stash of core ingredients and she reverted to being happy as a pig in shit over abso-fucking-lutely nothing. Daryl grunted as he pushed himself away from the wall, the plate grudgingly emptied as the meal settled in his gut like a stone. He eyed Rick, their fearful leader hanging back from the others, aiming resentful glares at his wife whenever he caught her not looking. Everything melded together to twist into something that felt off, like a warning—they were too complacent, too reliant on their perceived safety and he just knew they were going to pay for it sooner or later. Pay for it with more of their blood. The only gamble was on who would go down first.

The kitchen was a large one, homey with an artificial country ambiance that made Daryl cringe. They'd all crammed around the well-loved table, enough chairs to indicate that this was once a real hub of activity for the family that had lived here when the world was right and people had the freedom to laugh. The bustle inside now was more than Daryl could handle, so he cleared his throat rudely, peered intently across the room until he snagged Rick's gaze, then loudly prompted a reminder of their conversation the previous night. He felt a keen urgency for some kind of a plan to get people skilled up. He didn't know why—wasn't sure if it was a fear in his guts or just experience, but catastrophe was coming and it was stupid to sit on their asses, gorging on plentiful food when half their group was still lacking the skills to fight, and fight hard. They'd already waited too long, had too many near misses. Almost lost Glenn when he was distracted by Maggie.

"Listen up," barked Rick, and instantly he had the attention of everyone in the room. Rick wandered a little more centrally into the group, his expression one flavoured with concern and guardianship. "We've had a good run here and I think while we've got the chance, we should stop a while and try to work on weapons skills for those that don't really have any." There were some eager nods from the younger ones, the kids, and then a stark echo of pain that Daryl caught before Carol worked on pushing it down, hiding her fears before anyone else had a chance to see it. "How does this work for everyone? Maggie and Beth—you work with Glenn and Hershel, Carl's with me. Daryl with Carol and T-Dog, you and Lori. I advise doing any shooting practise away from the house, just in case it draws in walkers. I'll talk with Daryl and we'll set up a series of shifts that should maximise everyone's chance to practise. We've been coastin' too long, depending on the group to stay protected, but there might be times we aren't with the group. We want to make sure everyone can take care of themselves."

Daryl barely had the chance to judge their fearless leader a lily-livered pussy for palming off his own wife before he found himself astride his bike, Carol sliding in way too close behind him and her arms curved sweetly around his waist. He should have been chilled with the bite of the frigid wind cutting through his clothes as he sped away from their camp, but the heat of Carol's thighs pressed tight against his sparked a fire that whipped through him. The shock of it left him stiff with fear while his body reacted to an attraction he wasn't prepared for. He felt caught, twisting and stuck in a web made of stuff he'd never encountered before, and the tighter it coiled around him, the more frustrated he was. She shuffled even closer and Daryl sucked in a strangled breath, contemplating where his breaking point was as he found her touch almost too much. His stomach rolled violently, his body tense and he sat rigid while he tried to talk some sense into his reactive body parts. They didn't have time for this—he didn't want it and he was damn sure physical release was the last thing on her mind, if she'd even welcome his touch after her ass of a husband had laid his meaty paws on her. His brain had switched off with the weight of her hands at his hips, choosing instead to imagine the press of her curves into his back. He shook himself and almost swerved the bike off the road, his face flushed hot and his palms sweating. His relief was palpable when he pulled off the road at a field far enough away, snapping the kickstand into place. She hopped off and he only just caught the hint of confusion that crinkled around her eyes, her expression thoughtful before she wiped all traces away, focusing on him with a fierceness that made him forget what the fuck he was even doing out here in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, completely alone.

"You bring a knife?" He tried to speak softer than he was used to, knowing somewhere deep inside that the time for this woman to be treated rough was at an end, and if he ever did it again, surrendered to his baser reactions to strike out at her, he'd kick his own ass. If she was ever going to be a confident fighter, ever be able to survive this world, then beating her down had to stop, and it started with him.

She grinned at him, a touch of indulgence there in the corner of her mouth as she pulled a knife from her belt and let it sit flat in her open palm. His heart twisted painfully and he wondered if this was the beginning of his end. If he was going to die one small piece at a time whenever Carol smiled at him. "Of course. I don't leave home without my sharpened, deadly weapons."

"This ain't no laughin' matter," he grumbled, irrationally annoyed with her as well as himself. "I'm tryin' to teach you how to live."

Her head canted to the side and his body flushed at her up and down appraisal. Awareness renewed its bittersweet longing as he peered back at her, sweeping his hungry gaze right up her body, lingering at her open shirt and the hint of a crease between her breasts. He swallowed against a dry throat, an uncomfortable sweat prickled across his flesh. What the fuck was he doing? Did she even know what she was doing to him, or was she doing it on purpose?

"And I appreciate that, Daryl. What should I know first?" She looked contrite, though there was a hint of pink on her cheeks that fascinated him before he felt like a fool and quickly looked away, looked at anything but her as he frantically tried to stop his body's gentle stir toward life.

How could he find attractive someone who was so fucking useless? She floundered with the knife like her palms were slippery with sweat, not finding a good grip no matter how much she moved it around in her hand, and every time she did it he was certain smoke was blowing out his ears. His hand descended on hers so fast she flinched hard, though she tried to take it back with a fierce look that showed how much she wasn't scared of him. How much she wouldn't let herself be, and it was that fighting spirit that had kept him beside her in the first place. She was dumb as a rock when it came to protecting herself, but she wasn't going to cower anymore, and already that made her stronger than him.

"Put that knife away for now," he said, his voice gruff as he moved to help guide her hand and knife back to the sheath at her hip. She went to drop her shirt over the top and his fingers raced to cover hers, their eyes clashing as perspiration broke out on his forehead. Slowly he balled the fabric, lifting the shirt back up until a slit of her flesh was visible and he was caught in the wonder of what he was doing. His knuckles brushed against her skin and he froze, his body screaming at him that this was good, this was what it wanted and damn he'd taken his time working it out. It took strength he never knew he had to ignore it, hastily tucking the fabric behind the knife. "Need to be able to get to it fast," he explained, taking a step back and praying it would mean his brain came back out to play. Understanding immediately, Carol nodded and then ran her fingers over the place his hand had just been, smoothing the shirt down.

Her eyes were owl-like as they stood staring at each other, time seemingly taking some much needed vacation time and leaving them adrift on uncertainty. Flinching, having absolutely no idea what should happen next, Daryl pulled out the guns from the bike's saddle bags along with a bag of empty cans from their breakfast, walking without speaking to a part of the field closer to the woods. He pointed to a spot and waited for her to understand she was to stand there and then he went and position the cans at various heights in the front line of trees. Wherever he could jam it, determined she'd learn to look and fire without thinking, finding her objective and altering her aim whenever need saw fit. Weren't gonna learn shit just lining cans along a fence. They didn't have time or bullets for taking things easy, and Carol had never had it easy anyway. He wasn't going to bubble wrap everything for her.

Once they started he was shocked to find she was a good shot. She had a good eye and excellent aim and really all he needed was to make sure she could hit a moving target. She had her chance a lot sooner than he'd expected, with only ten minutes of pinging tins into the air behind them before walkers started flooding out from behind the trees. With his crossbow he picked off a few, but then grew angry as she stood there indecisively, her shots going wide before she jerked her hand and tried to line up the next one. They were in the thick of it before he knew it and soon the walkers were too close to use guns.

"Get your knife," he shouted at her, frustration and fear thrumming through him like lightning, adrenaline making it all a blur. She hit one that didn't fall, the pressure behind the knife not enough to kill it and Daryl found he had to rush in to finish it off. "Harder," he shouted at her, not caring anymore if he was too harsh or not, if he was confronting or not. He didn't care if he scared her, the field was full of monsters that should do that for him and he was covered in sweat and foul-smelling blood working double time while she tried to get the hang of the knife.

"I'm trying," she whimpered and he heard the tears in her voice, them acting like tinder to his booming rage.

"Fuckin' try harder."

Her wrist was weak, her jabs not always firm and strong, not confident and in a last minute whirl of temper, Daryl finished them off bar one. He threw his crossbow to the ground and took long, furious strides to her, wrapping his bloodied hand around her fist on the knife, taunting the final walker to come closer. She was shaking in his arms and he was vibrating with anger and adrenaline, the walker moving too slow so he jerked her forward, pushing her forcefully with his body while she was trying to back away. He was stronger and so three steps in they were right in front of it, one of his hands spanning her waist as he used all his strength to force her to thrust her knife through its mushy skull, the blade protruding right through the back with the matted hair and burst of black blood. It fell like a stone as together, he pulled the knife out of its head. Daryl threw himself away from her, panting, his knees wobbling until he stumbled and fell on his ass. His chest rose and fell as air rushed through his diaphragm, the pain a pinch that made it difficult to find somewhere for his temper to go.

Finally he had enough composure to just glare as he practically snarled at her. "The fuck was that?"

She had tear streaks down her face but he ignored them, his heart still hammering away far too hard for him to have energy to spare for anyone else in the midst of their panic.

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry ain't gonna keep your ass alive." He shook his head, like he couldn't quite believe things had just gone down like they had. The shells of remnants of the human race lay scattered around him, torn and bloody and useless and he could no longer see the humanity that had once been in them, just the rancid, rotting reality of the world they once used to know. They were little more than a plague now, spreading like wildfire through the breathers that remained in this fucked up world. Thing was, he liked breathing. He liked it a whole lot. He didn't do shit with the gift of life except survive, but he wasn't going to opt out any time soon, and it pissed him off like nothing else that Carol could be so strong, the survivor that would potentially outlast them all, yet she couldn't get a fucking knife all the way through a walker's half mushy head.

"I know," she sniffled pathetically and it was like a bucket of ice water to his earlier conflict over his body's responses to her. Right now her failure to be all that he knew she could be made him question why he was bothering. When she turned those sparkling crystal-like eyes at him, the blue so hot that he lit up from the inside, he knew there wasn't a damn thing he could do to stop himself. He was going to make sure she could save her own life if it killed him. Snorting in self-disgust, he pushed himself upright and snatched his crossbow off the ground, striding toward the bike. When he straddled it and revved the engine to life, he was still too irritated to even take advantage of watching her rush back to him. He flinched when she took her place behind him, her hands hesitant as she settled them lightly on his hips, and damn it all if her touch didn't make him feel more alive than ever.


End file.
